


the battle's almost won (and we're only several miles from the sun)

by texaswatermelon



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:01:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/texaswatermelon/pseuds/texaswatermelon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd never really understood why all of the guys were constantly losing their shit over Quinn in high school, but she gets it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the battle's almost won (and we're only several miles from the sun)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dubcliq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dubcliq/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox. No infringement intended.  
>  **A/N:** So, this is a birthday present for dubcliq. Happy birthday, my friend. It's set after 4x14 and then diverts from there. So expect spoilers for that. I apologize if it seems a bit rushed once you get towards the end. I had a lot of feels after Quinntana hooked up, and then got distracted. But I wanted to finish it for the birthday deadline. I hope it is enjoyable, nevertheless. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Title from "The Sun" by Maroon 5.

It's not just a one-time thing. It's not even a two-time thing, and to be honest, Santana loses track of how many times she and Quinn "experiment" that night. One thing she does know is that she probably wouldn't ever get tired of feeling Quinn arch up into her while she breathes Santana's name like it's something sacred. She'd never really understood why all of the guys were constantly losing their shit over Quinn in high school, but she gets it now.

They finally crash sometime after 3 AM rolls by, and Santana has long since gotten over trying to pretend that she's too badass to cuddle, so she opens her arms willingly when Quinn settles against her and rests her head on Santana's chest. Quinn is long and lithe, but also warm and soft, and Santana likes the way it feels to hold her, the way that Quinn sighs and relaxes when Santana scratches lightly at her scalp, and how her thumb grazes back and forth across Santana's hip in a gesture that might not mean much to most people, but speaks volumes to people like Quinn and Santana. She likes feeling like maybe she can protect Quinn from all of the crazy shit that's happened to her, that will always be happening at some point or another, for as long as she's willing to stay wrapped up in Santana's embrace.

Santana knows that Quinn has obvious, understandable issues with sex, and the realization of how much trust it must have taken for Quinn to open herself up to her like she did settles on top of Santana's chest with all the weight of the hammer of Thor. And then Santana wants to slap herself for ever letting that idiot Trouty Mouth convince her to watch that movie.

xx

Santana has always been an early riser, and years of sleepovers have taught her that Quinn will sleep in until well past noon if you let her. But checkout is at ten and Santana knows that neither of them plans on dishing out the cash to rent this room for another night, so she decides to wake Quinn up. The fact that she does it with her tongue between Quinn's legs is just for good measure.

They gather their things and leave the hotel together. Quinn has to get back to New Haven, but Santana is staying for a little while longer to go visit her mother. She calls Quinn a cab, and when it gets there, Quinn hugs her tightly and kisses her on the corner of the mouth.

"Thank you," she says in that ridiculously attractive breathy voice of hers, and Santana looks at the ground and blushes like a smitten schoolgirl.

"Take care of yourself, Fabray, and call me when your stuffy Ivy League school gets too boring for you. I'll come liven things up Lima Heights style."

Quinn smirks as she gets into the cab, and then she's gone. Santana tries not to feel like she just gave away something old and beloved.

xx

When she dreams, they are in the Cheerios locker room at McKinley again, and Quinn is captain. She tells Santana that she can kiss her if she wants to, and smiles sweetly when Santana hesitates.

"It's okay," Quinn promises in a sultry voice that makes Santana clench low in her belly. "I promise I won't tell anyone."

Santana leans in slowly and feels a surge of relief when her lips finally touch Quinn's. But then Quinn pulls away suddenly, and when Santana opens her eyes, the locker room is filled with the rest of their squad, including Sue. Quinn jumps away from her and accuses her of being a pervy lesbo with the most disgusted look that Santana has ever seen on her face. Sue screams at her to turn in her uniform and get the hell out of her locker room. Santana feels her heart beat wildly with fear and turns to sprint out of the locker room, but it stretches on forever. When she looks to her left, she can see Brittany standing there with Sam at her side. She holds his hand and looks at Santana with immense disappointment. To her right is Quinn, standing with her arms crossed and a smug look on her face.

"You actually thought that someone like me would ever want to be with someone like you?" she asks cruelly, and Santana feels hot tears leaking down her face.

She startles awake with Quinn's vicious laugh still echoing in her ear. She's actually sweating, like some kind of movie cliché, and she feels like she might be on the verge of cardiac arrest.

"Fuck," she mutters, and then falls back onto the couch (a.k.a. her bed) and stares up at the headlights playing on the ceiling as cars pass by outside. It takes several long minutes of listening to Brody snore for her heart rate to finally return to normal.

Santana has tried not to think about her tryst with Quinn too much over the past week, but she can't stop her subconscious from revisiting it every night in her sleep in the most unpleasant of ways. She's never really been a person who dreams vividly. The last time she remembers having dreams like this was when she confessed her love to Brittany by the lockers during their junior year. She's not really sure how having awesome sex with Quinn Fabray compares to that situation, but it's already starting to take a toll on her sanity. And it's only been a week.

xx

She knew before she even moved in that living with the three biggest divas in New York was going to bring a lot of drama, but she'd always thought that it would be drama of the  _America's Next Top Model_  variety, not this  _Jersey Shore_  shit. Still, she can't help but feel sick to her stomach and a little more than overwhelmed while Rachel sobs into her shoulder like she just lost the part of Fanny Brice to some second-rate community theatre skank with a discount nose job. It feels too much like a flashback to their sophomore year of high school, except neither Quinn nor Rachel would ever have trusted her enough to come to her about something like this then (and rightfully so, because she would have made their lives hell for it). But she has a chance to do it right this time around—to be the friend to Rachel that she should have been to Quinn—so she holds Rachel close and tries to promise that everything will be okay. She doesn't know if it will be, though, because Rachel is only eighteen and still out of her fucking mind, and Finn Hudson is the last person on Earth who should be fathering a child, and if having a baby almost destroyed Quinn, then it will absolutely destroy Rachel.

Usually, her first instinct would be to call Brittany, but then she remembers that Brittany isn't hers anymore, and even if she were, she'd probably suggest baking Rachel a congratulatory cake and throwing her a baby shower. Santana needs practical advice, the kind that comes with experience, and there's only one person she knows who can give her that.

Quinn swears so violently that it would actually make Santana blush if she hadn't been the cause of such profanity only a few weeks ago.

"Didn't she learn anything from my mistakes?" she asks angrily.

"You know Rachel lives her life like she's some fairytale character who will never have to deal with the consequences of her own actions," Santana reminds her. "I don't know what to do, Q. I mean, I wasn't exactly there for you when you were going through this until after the fact."

Quinn can obviously hear the shame in her voice, because she sighs Santana's name in a way that Santana can't really deal with right now.

"It's fine, Q. I mean, I've been trying to make it up to you and I'm going to keep trying, but I can't change the way I acted back then. I  _can_  make sure that I don't do the same thing to Rachel now."

"The only thing you can really do is just try to be there for her, and support her no matter what. In the end, it's her choice as to how she decides to handle everything, but it'll be a lot easier for her if she has someone to lean on and cry to when she has to make the really tough decisions. You're a really good friend when you want to be, Santana. Rachel will be okay if she has you by her side. And I'll try to do my part, too. We both owe her that, at least," Quinn says, and Santana knows that she's not the only one with regrets.

xx

Being a good friend to Rachel in her time of need isn't exactly easy when Santana's got her own shit to deal with. She has a job now, working as a waitress in some hole-in-the-wall diner near the loft where sleazy guys stare at her tits and try to grab her ass when she walks by. When she's not working, there are auditions to prepare for and go to. And when she's not doing either of those things, she spends her time trying to get Rachel to do basic, necessary things, like shower and eat something other than shitty vegan ice cream and breathe. Kurt tries to help, but it's kind of awkward for him considering the fact that his best friend is pregnant to his brother. Santana threatens to cut his balls off if he even  _hints_  to Finn about the pregnancy without Rachel's permission.

Brody has moved out by now; it turns out that he can handle Rachel fucking other guys, but not bearing their spawn. Santana isn't really sad to see him go. She was getting tired of watching him walk around with his dick hanging out, and she knows that asshole was using all of her hair product. It doesn't mean that she gets her own bed or anything, since they only have two, but Rachel seems marginally relieved to have him gone, and Santana spends most of her nights holding Rachel while she cries herself to sleep anyway.

Quinn hasn't gotten the chance to break away from Yale yet and come visit, but she calls almost every day and tells Santana that she's doing a good job, even if it doesn't seem like it, and then demands to talk to Rachel to give her some sage advice for the day. Santana honestly doesn't know what the fuck she would do if she didn't have Quinn to talk to about all of this. Her voice is soothing and sure, and it makes Santana feel like maybe they will make it through this in one piece.

But giving support through a phone is a lot different than  _being_   _there_ , and Santana misses Quinn's smile and the reassuring touches that she places on your arm and the way she smells like the calm after a storm. On the worst days, the days when every asshole in the world stops in to eat at the diner and some dickwad director decides to rip her to shreds and Rachel is so immersed in her own despair that Santana is actually afraid to leave her alone for more than two seconds and Quinn is too busy to talk for long, Santana feels like she might actually shatter under the pressure.

It's on those days that Santana closes her eyes in the shower and allows herself to remember the way that Quinn's body felt under her fingertips, the way she rose and fell and twisted into the sheets, the way her moans echoed off of the walls and branded Santana's heart in a way that she was completely oblivious to at the time, but feels so acutely now that it almost brings her to her knees when she draws out her own release and the water turns cold around her.

It doesn't make her feel better. In fact, it usually makes her feel worse. She never thought she'd be the stupid girl who falls for her straight best friend. But she is (falling, that is), and she knows with a heavy sense of resignation that there is nothing for her to grab onto, no surface on which to seek purchase. She only feels slightly better when she reminds herself that at least she won't be the first sad sack to ever have their heart broken by Quinn Fabray.

xx

Eleven weeks in, there's a spatter of blood on the floor, a fainting spell, and a trip to the emergency room. And that's the official end of Rachel's first experience with motherhood.

Quinn has literally just finished with finals and takes the first train down from New Haven with the biggest suitcase that Santana has ever seen. She then proceeds to basically take over the entire apartment, cleaning and setting up some sort of nest on Rachel's side of the room and sending Santana out with a mile-long grocery list that includes a ton of healthy food, vitamins that touch on every letter in the alphabet, and some cheesy ass movies that Santana wouldn't be caught dead watching under any other circumstances. She practically force-feeds Rachel for the first few days and annoys the shit out of her until she's either so infuriated that she looks like she might murder them all, or starts bawling again. In either case, she's forced to run off to the shower every time in order to get away from Quinn and calm down, which is exactly what Quinn is going for. It's not a happy time for anyone, but at least Rachel is being taken care of, whether she likes it or not.

"I don't really get it," Santana says after a few days of watching Rachel sleep half of the time and stare blankly out the window the other half. "She was so miserable when she was pregnant. I kind of thought she'd be…relieved, I guess."

"Even though getting pregnant when you're too young and unprepared is completely horrifying, you eventually get to a point when you realize that the baby growing inside of you is the one person in the world who will love you unconditionally, no matter how much of a screw up you are. She's the only one who will love you just for you, and who will try to find the good in you, even if there isn't any to find," Quinn says.

She stares at Rachel's stomach wistfully, almost like she wishes that she had been the one to get pregnant instead of Rachel. It's something that Santana knows she will never be able to understand, never  _wants_  to be able to understand. But thinking too hard about Beth has never been a good thing for Quinn, so Santana reaches out, laces their fingers together, and tries not to disintegrate when Quinn looks at her like she might break apart.

"You're wrong," she says firmly. "You're not a screw up. There's a lot more good in you than you or anyone else ever gave you credit for. And Beth isn't the only one who will ever love you just for you."

She can't even really look at Quinn properly when she says it, but she sees Quinn staring at her out of the corner of her eye and hears her breath catch on a quiet sob. She only looks up when Quinn squeezes her hand, and the pained, watery smile she gets is enough to make her throat close up.

xx

After about two weeks, Rachel starts doing the simple things without as much forceful bitchiness on Quinn's part, which is a relief. Quinn takes over Santana's role as the comforter, and does a much better job at it than Santana ever did. She always knows exactly what Rachel needs without ever having to be told, and she has a way of getting Rachel to do the things that she doesn't want to do even when she's at her most petulant. The three of them start going for daily walk through the park to ensure that Rachel gets fresh air and exercise. Quinn gets Rachel to talk about things, real things that make her look like she's dying inside just to speak about them, but she always seems relieved afterwards. The bad days are still awful, but Santana can see Rachel gradually getting stronger day by day. And helping Rachel seems to be helping Quinn, too, in a way that Santana doesn't really understand, but appreciates nevertheless.

"You did the impossible, Q," she says one evening when Rachel laughs—a real, genuine Rachel Berry laugh—at something on the television. "She never would have survived this without you."

"Yes she would have," Quinn says easily.

"Well, I wouldn't have," Santana amends. "I like having you around."

When Quinn's eyes lock with hers, Santana knows that she sees more than she's supposed to.

"I like being here," Quinn says finally. "But I have to go back to school soon."

"Or, you could stay," Santana suggests.

"Santana…"

"Come on, Quinn, you have to admit that we make a damn good team. And how much fun are you really having all the way up in Stuffed Shirtville? You could transfer to a school here in New York and we could rule this city just as easily as we ruled McKinley. Maybe we could even revisit that night in the hotel room, if you're feeling brave enough," she says smugly, but she knows that this sounds suspiciously like begging at this point.

Quinn's sad smile only confirms it.

"Santana, you know I love you, and I had a really good time that night. But it can't happen again," she says softly.

Santana feels the words like a snakebite to the heart, even if she already knew they were coming.

"Yeah, I got it. One-time thing, right? Funny, I never knew you were so bad at math, Fabray. Or did you just forget how to count after I made you come for the umpteenth time?" she spits.

"Don't do this, Santana," Quinn warns lowly, but Santana is already pushing off of the counter that she's leaning on and heading for the door. Quinn closes her eyes against the sound of it slamming shut and tries not to snap at Rachel to mind her own goddamn business when she sees her peering over the back of the couch worriedly.

xx

Rachel and Kurt are both asleep when Santana finally comes back. Quinn is reading a book on the couch. Santana plops down at the other end without a word. She smells like beer and cigarettes, but she got tired of trying to get drunk after her second drink, so she took her frustrations out on a dartboard for a while instead. Quinn marks her place in the book and studies Santana in silence for a few minutes.

"You're my best friend, you know?" she says finally, and her voice is low and scratchy. Santana scoffs.

"I'm getting kind of tired of hearing that line."

"I know, but it's true," Quinn insists. "Even when I couldn't stand you, I always respected you. I knew you were the one I could always count on to be brutally honest with me, to keep me in check when I started to get out of control. You challenge me when no one else will and make me work for the things that I really want. I used to hate you for it, but it's a quality that I've since come to appreciate," she says with a smirk.

Santana rolls her eyes, but her lips quirk up anyway.

"Quinn, you don't have to sit here and tell me things I already know about how awesome I am just to make me feel better. I get it; you're not gay. I shouldn't have brought it up," she says.

"It's not even about that, S," Quinn says, and a pained look flashes across her face. "I know things didn't turn out the way that you wanted them to with Brittany, but I'm definitely not the solution to that problem. You deserve someone who's just as strong and beautiful as you are, who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to take it. None of those things describe me."

"You're an  _idiot_  if you believe that," Santana says in a way that tells Quinn that she's not taking any of her self-pitying bullshit. "And you're even more pathetic than senior year Rachel Hudson if you think that you don't deserve the exact same things."

"Maybe," Quinn says tiredly. "But there are a lot of things that I have to work on, and it's something that I have to go through alone."

Santana exhales hotly, because Quinn is honestly the most obnoxiously stubborn person that she's ever met aside from herself. She slides across the couch and rests her head on Quinn's shoulder, wraps her arms loosely around Quinn's waist. Quinn puts her arm around Santana's shoulder and runs her fingers through Santana's hair. She allows her head to fall against the top of Santana's and sighs heavily.

"You can be a moron sometimes, you know?" Santana murmurs after a few minutes, and Quinn huffs out a laugh. "It's not something that you have to do alone, and you're sorely mistaken if you think your best friend is going to let you go through it without her."

Quinn exhales shakily and turns to press a kiss against the top of Santana's head. They fall asleep like that, nestled against each other on the couch.

xx

Even though the loft is barely big enough for herself, Rachel, and Kurt, it still feels incredibly empty once Quinn goes back to school in August. Curling up on the couch next to Rachel to watch TV isn't the same as doing it with Quinn, not as familiar, and definitely not as relaxing with the way Rachel talks the whole time. And now that Rachel is slowly returning back to her normal self (even better than her normal self, maybe, like a more relaxed version of sophomore year Rachel), Santana feels suddenly like she doesn't have as much of a purpose anymore. They keep up their tradition of going for walks in the park every couple of days, but it feels weird without Quinn. Santana walks with her hands stuffed in her pockets, kicking pebbles in front of her while Rachel babbles about nonsense beside her, like white noise in the background.

"You know, I thought I was the resident skulker around here, but you're starting to put me to shame," Rachel says, and Santana only notices because she isn't talking about NYADA or Broadway for once.

"I'm not skulking," Santana says defensively, shooting Rachel her best glare. Rachel is not impressed.

"Sure, and I wasn't born to play the lead in Evita," she says sarcastically. There isn't an eye roll big enough for Santana to address that. "You've been moping around ever since Quinn went back to Yale. You miss her."

"You know what I miss? I miss when you spent most of your time curled up in a ball pretending you didn't exist," Santana snaps, and it's mean, meaner than she wants to be, but she can't handle people poking around the tender places in her heart. The wounded look on Rachel's face makes her huff. "Fuck, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean that."

Rachel is a better friend than Santana deserves, because she nods slowly and lets it go.

"I never really thanked you, you know," she says after a few minutes of silence.

"For what, being a bitch?" Santana asks bitterly.

"For helping me. I've been pretty caught up in my own problems for the past couple of months, but I did notice everything you've been doing for me. I never would have survived it all if it hadn't been for you," Rachel says earnestly.

"Whatever, I didn't really do anything except make sure you showered regularly because your smell was starting to make my eyes water," Santana mutters. Rachel sighs with exasperation.

"Can you please just let me say thank you like a normal person?"

The way she says it, like she's tired beyond her years, makes Santana finally shut up and nod.

"You're welcome," she says quietly.

"I overheard your conversation with Quinn about what happened between you guys at Mr. Schuester's wedding," Rachel says, just when Santana thinks that maybe they'll spend the rest of their walk in peaceful silence.

"Mind your own business, Berry," Santana growls.

"Santana, as much as you don't want to admit this, we're friends now. And friends don't mind their own business when one of them is miserable. Any idiot can see that you have feelings for Quinn. You've never really been subtle when you like someone." Santana doesn't even dignify that with a response lest she say something to really hurt Rachel's feelings. "We're actually pretty similar, Quinn and I. We've both always had this idea that we don't really deserve to be loved or treated well, so we just kind of settle for anyone who will take an interest in us and tell us we're pretty. It's probably why we dated a lot of the same people in high school."

If this is Rachel finally realizing that Finn isn't some sort of knight in shining armor, Santana will toss her ridiculous ass into the Hudson River (and the irony of that isn't lost on her at all).

"Where the hell are you going with this, Rachel?" she asks impatiently, because she really hates that they're having this conversation at all. She'd gladly go back to listening to Rachel drone on endlessly about her Broadway fantasies.

"I'm trying to tell you that Quinn is only ever going to accept the love she thinks she deserves, which is a whole lot worse than the love she  _actually_  deserves. And that's not something that you can just tell her with a bunch of pretty words, not that you're the next Keats or anything." Santana snorts. "Quinn needs to be shown that she's worth loving and worth spending time on, not as some kind of trophy to make yourself feel better, but because she's the person that you just can't stop thinking about no matter how hard you try. Because the things about her that most people would consider flaws are the things that make you love her even more. Because it would be worth it to wait for ten years or more just to see her smile  _once_."

Rachel's words feel like an anvil to the chest, but when she looks over and sees those wide brown eyes shining like some kind of fucking anime character, she can't help but chuckle and give Rachel a small push on the shoulder.

"God, you're so fucking dramatic," she says, and Rachel laughs a little through her sniffle. Santana sobers as they continue walking. "She doesn't feel that way about me."

"I'm not saying that she does, or that she ever will. I don't know if she will," Rachel says honestly. "But isn't it worth trying anyway if it means that Quinn finally learns to love herself?"

Santana's not really sure when  _Rachel_  became the logical one in the group.

xx

"Christ Q, I think your blazer collection is quickly outgrowing Berry's high school animal sweater collection," Santana says when Quinn shows her the new outfit she just bought. Quinn rolls her eyes.

"Whatever, don't compare my wardrobe to pre-makeover Rachel's," she says bitterly as she puts the blazer back on its hanger.

"Don't get your virginal panties in a twist, Fabray. You'd look good in a burlap sack, so it doesn't really matter what you wear," Santana replies coolly.

Her voice sounds tinny through the computer, but Quinn still feels secretly pleased when she hears it. It's probably a result of having Santana as her number one rival for years, but getting a compliment from her always feels more genuine than when it comes from other people. She manages to dim her smile down into a smirk by the time she sits back down in front of her computer.

"I thought you liked me better when I wasn't wearing clothes," Quinn teases.

"Well, while I did appreciate exploring that hot body of yours, my name isn't Puckerman. I can appreciate a girl for more than just her vagina," she says, and it sounds crass and vague, but luckily Quinn speaks Santana and she knows that her friend is actually being pointedly sweet to her.

"How courteous of you," Quinn says wryly, and ignores it when Santana flips her off. "Hey, I've got to go. I'm going to be late for this poetry reading."

"God, you are such a cliché," Santana scoffs. "Let me guess: a bitter, unshaven lesbian from your women's studies class who wears too much plaid and thick-framed glasses invited you."

"I'm not even taking a women's studies class this semester, you idiot," Quinn laughs. "I'll talk to you later. Give Rachel and Kurt my love."

She ends the call on Santana's eye roll, which is pretty much how all of their conversations end, but it's comforting and Quinn wouldn't trade it for anything.

Secretly, she feels kind of guilty. What she didn't tell Santana is that while she isn't going to this poetry reading with a lesbian stereotype, she is going with a cute boy from her lit class named Josh. Quinn doesn't know why she didn't tell Santana about it in the first place, and she also doesn't know why it feels a bit like she's betraying her best friend. They aren't together; Quinn made that perfectly clear when she was in New York. But it still feels a little bit wrong to her, so she makes an effort to put Santana out of her mind completely for the night and just have a nice time.

She deserves that at least, right?

xx

Quinn remembers Josh offering to buy her a drink when they got to the bar, but she doesn't seem to remember how one drink turned into seven, or how they got back to her place for that matter. She definitely doesn't remember the poetry they heard.

She knows that he is now kissing her (a little sloppily, but it's nice enough) on top of her mattress, and that his body moves against hers with a purpose, even though he still has his pants on. He is muscled and heavy and warm, almost too warm, and she remembers from their conversations that he is sweet and intelligent. All the things she was looking for in a man and could never seem to find at McKinley. He paws at her breast with little grace, and she wants to pass it off as just drunken misperception, but…

She hasn't thought about Santana all night, but she thinks of Santana now, of all times. She thinks of how Santana was charming and graceful even when she was plastered. How her hands glided along Quinn's skin with practiced ease, as if they'd been doing it for years, as if she had every inch of Quinn's body memorized before they ever slept together. And maybe she did. All those years of cheering together and changing in front of each other in the locker room—maybe Santana had secretly paying attention to Quinn in other ways when Quinn thought Santana's only aim was to tear her down and take her place.

Santana's muscles are well defined, too, but not in the same way that Josh's are. Santana moves like a cat, all sinew and calculated elegance, with an unrefined passion just underneath the surface that exploded whenever Quinn pushed just the right buttons. Josh reminds her more of a rhinoceros. He's trying too hard to power his way through this, not giving her enough space to breathe or really even enjoy herself.

With an undignified grunt, he slumps on top of her, breathing heavily, and Quinn realizes that it's over without her ever really realizing it had begun. His breath stinks of alcohol in a way that Santana's never did that night, and the fact that she spent the entire time thinking about Santana while she was meant to be paying attention to Josh should bother her a lot more than it is. In the morning she thinks she will regret this. Not having sex, because that happens and she has long ago learned her lesson about using protection. No, she will regret the fact that Santana has crept into her mind during the most private and intimate of times. She will regret that when Josh starts snoring beside her several minutes after they've finished, and Quinn sticks her hand under the covers to finish herself off, it is thoughts of Santana and her wonderfully talented fingers, her caring, expressive eyes, and her sultry voice that finally do the trick.

xx

So.

Josh leaves in the morning, and even though he apologizes for how quickly things progressed, they don't go out on any more dates. Which is fine, honestly, because Quinn's schedule becomes too busy for a boyfriend. But not too busy for Santana, apparently, who still calls every Thursday night, and who Quinn always makes time for no matter how much homework she's got.

She tries very hard to not think about how she masturbated to thoughts of Santana, and it works for the most part. Santana makes her forget about all of the stress that piles up on top of her throughout the week. She reminds Quinn that she's strong enough and smart enough to handle it all. She makes Quinn laugh. Makes her feel loved.

At first Quinn wondered if all of the compliments Santana gives her were just a ploy to try to get into Quinn's pants again. But Santana always compliments her in such an off-handed way, like there's no ulterior motive behind it. And she never brings up what happened at Schuester's wedding, or tries to convince her to move to New York again. Eventually Quinn realizes that Santana is just being a friend to her, a true friend, who is there for her without fail and who actually makes her feel like she's worth the praise.

It gets to the point that when her friends ask her to go out with them on a Thursday, Quinn immediately declines. She can't—won't—skip out on Santana, wouldn't want to for anything. And so eventually her friends get the idea that Thursdays are out of the question, though they'll never understand why. She knows what they whisper behind her back. They think she's secretly dating someone and doesn't want them to know about it. If they knew the truth, they'd probably be even more suspicious. She doesn't really care what they think in the end.

xx

It turns out that Quinn's classes are really fucking hard this semester, and by the time finals come, she's not sure if she's going to pass or even survive them. Her mother wants her to come home for Christmas, and Quinn just… can't fucking deal with the awkward silences and the empty liquor bottles. All of her friends are acting like they've got no cares in the world, going out and getting wasted every other night. When they notice that Quinn is in a bad mood, they don't ask what's wrong or try to cheer her up. They just tell her to lighten up, let loose, don't be so stressed out all the time, as if that's something Quinn can actually control. And to top it off, she's pretty sure she heard some girl at the coffee shop today make some snide comment about how much plastic surgery she must have had.

She's sick of them, sick of all of them. All she wants to do is burrow under her covers and never come out. All she wants is a friendly face, someone who gets her, who understands all of her neuroses and her bitchiness and her imperfections. Someone who understands them and loves her anyway. She just wants…

Santana. Santana is the first face that comes to mind, the one that always comes to mind when Quinn is feeling like shit. If Santana were here, she would tell Quinn to stop whining and sit down with her and help her conquer every bit of knowledge she needs to master for these finals. If Santana were here, she would tell Quinn to come stay with them in New York over Christmas and New Years. She would promise that they would have a fucking blast in the city, and Quinn would know that it would be true. She would tell Quinn's "friends" to go fuck themselves, and she would have clawed that coffee shop bitch's eyeballs out.

Just thinking about it makes Quinn feel like she can breathe easier. Santana is such a presence that she doesn't even need to actually be there to make Quinn feel stronger, like she can handle anything. Santana never forces Quinn to feel better. She makes Quinn realize that she  _is_  better. Better than all of the bullshit she's been through, better than everything. She makes Quinn remember that she can stand on her own two feet, and that she doesn't need anyone's help to make it through. And she makes Quinn feel like it's still okay if she does need to lean on someone for a while.

Santana is a good friend. More than that, she loves Quinn in the way that Quinn has always wanted to be loved, but never felt like she deserved. Quinn is happier with Santana around. Whatever they may have been in high school, they are perfect for each other now. And she doesn't know why she's spent so much time denying that.

Before she knows it, she's submitting a payment for the next bus ticket out of New Haven. Finals start on Monday, but it's Friday now. She's got plenty of time. And she's got a mission.

xx

She hesitates outside the sliding metal door of the loft. What if this is a mistake? What if she was just feeling awful about herself and now she's here trying to get Santana to make her feel better and ends up hurting Santana in the process? What if Santana doesn't even feel that way about her anymore?

No. If nothing else, Quinn is sure that Santana loves her. And that thought makes something huge and heady rise in her chest. She knocks three times, and hears Rachel's voice call across the apartment, asking Santana to get the door. After a few seconds, it slides open, and Santana stands in front of her. There is momentary surprise on her face, and then a smile the likes of which Quinn will never tire of seeing. Yes, Santana loves her.

"Q, what are you doing here?" Santana asks happily.

There were words. She thought of them on the way to New York. Words about how wrong Quinn was to think that anything involving Santana could ever be a one-time thing. Words about how Santana is the only one who has ever made her realize her own beauty, her own strength, her own worth. Words about how Quinn thinks this is worth trying, if Santana does too. Whatever those words were, they're gone now. They have no purpose or place here. Words have never been necessary between them, and now, at the most important of times, they are even less so.

Quinn steps forward and presses her lips against Santana's with just enough force to make her take a step back. But Santana is not surprised. Santana always seems to know what Quinn is going to do before she does it, and she's always there to back Quinn up. She meets the kiss like she's been expecting it all along, runs her nails along Quinn's scalp and tangles her fingers in her hair. The kiss tastes like confirmation, like familiarity. It tastes like battles waged and lost and won and fought together. It tastes like Santana. It takes like home.

They break apart, but only a fraction of an inch. Quinn's hands grip at the sides of Santana's waist while Santana's hang clasped behind Quinn's neck. Their foreheads rest together and Quinn sighs against Santana's mouth.

"Santana, who was at the…" Rachel comes tromping in from the bathroom and stops short at the sight of them. "Oh," she says quietly. Quinn ignores her.

"I only have enough of my heart left to give to one person. If you break it…" she whispers, and then chokes on the rest of her words.

"Break it?" Santana says incredulously. "I've been keeping it safe this whole time, you moron."

Quinn breathes out a laugh and Santana kisses her again, a soft, chaste kiss that Quinn would almost have thought she wasn't capable of.

"Well it's about time," Rachel says, arms crossed and smug smirk on her face. Quinn rolls her eyes, but she can't stop herself from smiling.

"Shut up, Berry, or I'll tell Quinn all about that sexy lady dance teacher you have the hots for," Santana snaps.

Rachel splutters, Santana cackles, and Quinn feels like everything is as it should be.


End file.
